Beyond the Ruby Veil

by Mara Fitzgerald

  “I know,” he mutters.

  He looks miserable. It’s not that I expect him to look overjoyed, but we are about to save our city. That’s not something to be miserable about.

  But maybe he’s remembering the way the two of us fought in the jail in Iris. We’ve never fought like that before.

  “Ale,” I say. “What happened in Iris…”

  He turns back to me.

  We won’t fight like that again. From now on, he’s going to listen to me. He’s learned, unfortunately, what happens if he doesn’t.

  “It’s behind us now,” I say. “Let’s go save Occhia.”

  He doesn’t move.

  “I can teach you how to pick a lock,” I say impatiently. “It’s not that hard. Just reach in here and get some of the pins from my hair. We’re going to have to be quick, because my papá was acting very strange, and he might be—”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  Ale barely whispers the words. I stop, certain I’ve misheard.

  “What?” I say.

  “When the watercrea took you away,” he says. “I thought you were dead. I thought your omens were going to spread in hours. My papá didn’t even say goodbye when he got his, you know. He ran straight to the tower, because he wanted to give up as much blood as he could. He wanted to set an example for everyone else. The next day, the guards brought us back his clothes and his wedding ring. It was… it was just so quick.”

  Ale hasn’t said a word about his papá since he died. The elder Signor Morandi was loud and gregarious and very unlike his son, but he doted on Ale, dragging him to meetings and showing him off at parties and telling everyone that one day he was going to be a wonderful head of Parliament. At the time, it made Ale miserable. He endured as little of it as possible before slipping off to a corner to read. But he loved his papá.

  I should have tried to talk to him about it sooner. That’s what a good best friend would have done. I just didn’t know what to say. And right now, I can see the pain on Ale’s face, and it looks as fresh as if it all happened last night.

  “After you left, I sat and stared out my window all night,” he continues. “I kept expecting to see you on your balcony. In the morning, I was so sure I was going to get one of your letters. But by that evening, I was married to Valentina. And her maids were carrying all her things into my room, making a mess of my books, and she was just sitting there, staring at me like I was the last person she’d ever wanted to marry. I had no idea what to talk to her about. And I realized you were really gone. I realized I had absolutely no idea how to live without you.”

  His voice is broken, and all at once, I’m no longer angry at him for leaving me in the tower. He didn’t know better. But he does now. That’s what he’s going to say next.

  “When I saw you again, it was like…” He hesitates. “I don’t know. I was scared for you, but at the same time, it was like everything had suddenly become right again.”

  I’m smiling. “So let’s—”

  “But then…” he says. “Then… this happened.”

  “What happened?” I say.

  “This,” he insists. “All of this.”

  “We got rid of the watercrea and saved Occhia?” I say.

  “How are you going to save Occhia?” he says. “Are you going to steal the water back from Iris? Are you going to turn the vide against them? Or are you going to… get the blood magic?”

  I open my mouth.

  “You don’t have to answer,” he says. “I know you will. I was in the crowd when you were giving that speech in Iris. I heard everything you said. And I saw the look in your eyes. You looked…” He trails off, like he’s too unsettled by the memory to finish his sentence.

  The blood magic will make me unstoppable. The blood magic will get rid of my omens. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have an omen on his skin, taunting him every second of every day. He doesn’t understand.

  “Occhia needs a savior,” I say. “It needs someone powerful enough to fight for it. And who would you rather have fighting for you than me?”

  Ale steps back.

  “Ale—” I say.

  “I love you,” he says softly.

  I have no idea how to respond. He’s never said that to me before. I assumed he thought it only belonged in a real marriage.

  “Do you love me?” he says.

  Of course I do. But right now, I’m in a cell, and he’s making no effort to help me.

  “I—” I say.

  “Stop,” he says. “I can see you thinking. I’m not asking you to say the thing that will convince me to let you out. I’m asking you what you feel. What you really feel.”

  He waits. His fists are clenched, like he’s braced for me to say something horrible. As if I didn’t break out of the watercrea’s tower and immediately run for his house. As if I wouldn’t kill anyone who hurts him. As if we’re not going to change our city together.

  “You’re my best friend,” I say. “Of course I love you.”

  For some reason, the words pain him. I can see it on his face.

  “I know,” he says. “I know. I do. But too many people have gotten hurt, and—I’m afraid, Emanuela. I’m afraid of how much worse it could get. So it has to stop.”

  He turns away.

  Like he’s going to leave.

  “Ale,” I say.

  He starts down the stairs.

  “Ale—” I throw myself against the bars. “You don’t have what it takes to save Occhia.”

  He doesn’t look back

  “I can do it,” I say. “Just let me—”

  All I can see of him is his shadow.

  “Ale,” I say. “You can’t just leave me in here—”

  He hasn’t stopped.

  “Ale!”

  The scream rips itself out of my throat, and at last, his shadow hesitates. He’s listening. But I’m shaking and gasping for breath and I can barely find any words.

  “If I—if I die, it will be your fault,” I choke out. “But if I live… I’ll break out of here, and I’ll find you, and I’ll—”

  I stop. It looks like his shadow has turned around.

  He’s coming back. He must be.

  “That’s all you have to say to me?” he says. “Threats?”

  “Ale,” I say. “I’m going to die in here. You’re not really going to let me—”

  I’m not able to put the words together anymore. All I can do is stare at his shadow.

  He doesn’t move. For a long moment, he doesn’t even speak.

  “You’ve always told me I can’t do anything without you,” he says. “But I’ve never even tried. Maybe I can.”

  He turns away. He starts back down the steps, and his shadow disappears.

  No.

  I try to call out to him, but all I can manage is a sob. I have to make him understand. He needs me. I need him.

  The tower door creaks open, then shuts.

  And I’m alone.

  I’m lying on my side, surrounded by darkness, when I feel it. Something invisible and foreign comes out of nowhere and pokes me in the hip, gentle but insistent.

  The hand of God.

  I don’t have to look to know what it is.

  A second omen has blossomed on my skin. Right next to the first.

  They’ll spread eventually. I can’t outrun them forever.

  But I will.

  I have to.

  EIGHTEEN

  THERE’S SOMEONE ON THE STAIRS.

  I’ve been sitting up for hours, staring blearily at the same spot. I’m desperate for the unthinking oblivion of sleep, but I can’t shake the feeling that if I let myself close my eyes, my omens are going to spread in an instant. So I’ve decided that I’ll simply never sleep again.

  My head is pounding, and my vision has gone blurry. That’s why it takes me a long moment to process a new presence. I can hear their footsteps. I can see their shadow coming closer and closer.

  “Ale?” I whisper, and I he
ar how helpless I sound, but I can’t make myself care.

  But it’s not Ale, I realize a moment later. It’s a guard. He unlocks the cell and starts to pull me out.

  “What—” I say.

  “Your people want to see you,” he says.

  It sounds a little mocking. I suppose it’s time for my trial by angry mob.

  I’m dizzy from blood loss and covered in chains, so the guard has to scoop me up in his arms. I can barely keep my head up, but I look around at the empty cells we pass. I try to find an opportunity to escape. I don’t see one.

  We’re already in the foyer of the tower somehow.

  I struggle.

  “Don’t bother,” the guard says.

  No. There has to be something I can do. I can’t face my people like this. I have to look like someone who can save them.

  The guard opens the door to the tower. He stops short.

  “Signor Ragno,” the guard says, a little wary.

  My papá is just outside. He’s straightening the collar of his suit and looking very grim.

  “Let me carry her,” he says.

  The guard is silent for a moment. “I’m the head guard,” he says finally, like this is a position that means anything anymore.

  “I don’t recall you being the head guard,” my papá says.

  “Well, I am now,” he says.

  “She’s my only daughter,” my papá says. “If your daughter had done something terrible—”

  “My daughter would never do something like this,” the guard says.

  “—she would still be your daughter, wouldn’t she? Please. Don’t deny me the chance to hold her one last time.”

  There’s a brokenness in my papá’s voice that I’ve never heard before. For a moment, I’m terrified. He really thinks I’m about to die helplessly at the hands of a mob. He really thinks he’s about to lose me forever.

  Then I see the glint in his brown eyes.

  I knew it. I knew my papá would still help me. I knew someone would help me.

  “I don’t want to go with him,” I say. “I don’t care about any of you.”

  That, apparently, is the persuasion that the guard needs.

  “Fine,” he says. “You take her, and I’ll walk behind—”

  He shifts me into my papá’s arms like they’re trading a sack of potatoes. My papá isn’t a big man, and he wavers for a second, undoubtedly surprised by how heavy I am with all the chains. He still smells like our family’s house—a scent I didn’t even realize I knew until this moment. I’d never left for long enough to miss it.

  He turns to face the long side of the cathedral.

  But then he sprints in the other direction, into the city streets.

  The guard swears and chases after us. In spite of myself, I laugh. My papá isn’t big, but he’s fast.

  “Just get to the catacombs,” I say. “I’ll take care of the guard.”

  “He won’t follow us in there,” my papá says. “Most of the other guards are gone because they went in and never came out—”

  My papá knows exactly where to go. He’s obviously planned for this. In moments, we’re pushing through a door and stumbling down dusty steps into the darkness of the catacombs. He sets me on the ground and starts to say something.

  But then a shadow blocks out the light from the top of the stairs. The guard has followed us. He hesitates for a second. Then he squares his shoulders, touches something in his breast pocket—a superstitious herb blend that he thinks will protect him, no doubt—and descends.

  Frantically, I turn onto my side. I press my bloody leg into the floor, hoping I can still get something out of the wound I made in Iris.

  Nothing happens. For a second, none of it feels like it was even real—the white city across the veil, the shadow creature roaming around the catacombs, and the girl with the blazing eyes who I almost destroyed. But then, I feel the stone underneath me grow cold.

  The guard reaches the bottom step and starts to lunge at my papá. But a second later, the floor opens up beneath the guard, and he’s gone.

  For a long moment, my papá just stares at the empty space where the guard used to be. When he turns back to me, his face is white.

  “What…” he says. “What did you just do?”

  “Do you have something to break me out of these chains?” I say.

  My papá doesn’t say anything.

  “Oh,” I say. “Maybe the guard has keys. I can bring him back—”

  “Emanuela,” my papá says. “Do you know what they were about to do to you? In the cathedral?”

  I hesitate. “They… they were going to—”

  “They were going to kill you,” he says. “The city is almost dead. They think that sacrificing you—the watercrea’s murderer—is our only chance. We have no other way to save ourselves.” He pauses. “But you have a way.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Just help me get out of these chains.”

  “There’s no time,” he says. “More people will come looking for us. Just tell me what to do.”

  The realization creeps across my skin, slow and cold. I thought he was here because he wanted to save me. But he only wants to save himself.

  The vide is lingering by my leg, waiting for more blood. I feed it. I ask it, tentatively, if it has a way to break my chains. I’m not sure what it’s capable of, but I have to try.

  I feel something cold on my thigh. I look down.

  There’s a faint, shadowy hand extending out of the darkness. It’s creeping across my skirt.

  It takes everything I have to hold still. I watch the thin fingers slide up, reaching for my bindings.

  The chains get very cold. And then they shatter.

  My papá startles back.

  I leap to my feet and shake myself free. I have no idea what just happened, and the vide just looks like a formless shadow again. But it’s a formless shadow that’s hovering very attentively by my feet.

  I think it wants payment. It occurs to me then that if I don’t give it payment, it could eat me up before I make it out of the catacombs. This is its domain. I’m just a visitor.

  I swallow hard and turn to my papá. There’s a loose rock in his hand now. He’s holding it close to his side, like he doesn’t want me to see it.

  “Go back up to the city, Papá,” I say. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “How did you do that?” he says.

  “I told you,” I say. “I know how to save us.”

  “Emanuela.” He advances on me. “Tell me how you did that, or I’ll—”

  I take a step forward. He stops.

  “You don’t have a plan,” I say. “Your only plan was to manipulate me into helping you and taking all the credit. You just wanted me to be your accessory.”

  He looks around the dark catacombs. He’s shaking and desperately trying to gather himself. I’ve never seen him look so rattled.

  “Emanuela,” he says, softer. “You’re not my accessory. You’re my daughter. We have to save the city. We can’t let ourselves die. I just—”

  “We’re not going to die,” I say.

  “My little spider,” he tries again. “I—”

  I look at the rock in his hands. He tightens his grip, ever so slightly.

  “You’re afraid of me,” I say.

  “You’re—” He’s stumbling over his words. “You’re just a little girl. You’re my little girl. I could never—”

  “You thought you could put me in charge of Parliament and tell me what to do,” I say. “You thought I would never question you. You thought you could control me. But do you really think you’re powerful enough to do that? After what you’ve seen me do?”

  I step closer, and he flinches. Again.

  “I killed the watercrea,” I say. “That makes me the most powerful person in the city.”

  He swings the rock at my head.

  And then I’m on my hands and knees. There’s a searing pain in my head. I’m so dizzy. I can’t make sense of the
dark shapes in front of me.

  He hit me.

  I didn’t think he would actually hit me.

  I touch my forehead and find blood. Like an instinct, I smear it on the floor.

  I look up and find my papá, standing over me. He’s clutching the rock in both hands, and his eyes are dark and cold.

  He doesn’t even look sorry.

  “Don’t make me do this,” he says.

  And then the vide has swallowed him up.

  In the silence, I manage to get to my feet. I brace myself on the wall and try to breathe.

  I don’t have time to think about what just happened. I need to save Occhia. I need the magic.

  The vide is at my feet. There are two men trapped inside it right now. I could use either one for my purposes. It doesn’t matter.

  I look down at my hands. My fingers are already stained with my own blood. I curl them into fists.

  It does matter.

  I back away from the vide. I wait.

  It opens up again, and the moment my papá appears on the floor, I strike.

  I know exactly what I have to do. My hands are so quick and decisive that he has no chance of stopping them.

  I wasn’t prepared for the sound of his screams. I wasn’t prepared for how slippery it would be. But I dig my fingers into his eye, gouging deeper and deeper, and I pull.

  Somehow, it’s free, and it’s in my grip, hot and wet and mangled. There are threads keeping it attached, and I can’t manage to tear them off with my hands. So I tear them off with my teeth, and then the whole eye is in my mouth, because I can’t hesitate now. I’ve come too far.

  It’s salty. It slides around and squishes between my teeth, and I’m chewing and chewing, desperately. I think about Verene, struggling in her brother’s arms and gagging, and in spite of myself, I feel a little sorry for her.

  I press my hands to my mouth and force myself to swallow the last of it down. I stumble to my feet and brace myself on the wall, and I turn to face my papá.

  He’s crumpled on the floor, letting out horrible, gurgling sobs. I squint at the blood all over his face and try to get it to bend to my will, but it doesn’t.

  I clench my fists and try harder.

  I refuse to believe that it didn’t work. It has to work. I saw it happen. It saved Verene’s life. It turned her into something magical. Something immortal.